Bury My Heart
by xstormqueenx
Summary: 'Though an army encamp against me... though war arise against me, my heart shall not fear...' As infection spreads, turning the residents of King's County into crazed killers, small-town sheriff Rick Grimes is forced to fight those he swore to serve and protect, in order to save the lives of those he loves. {Rick/OC}. {Bethyl}. {Non ZA, Dystopian AU}.
1. Red, White & Blue

**Author's Note:** _Bury My Heart_ is a dystopian AU story diverging from my main Negan/OC/Rick series, the reading order of which is listed on my profile. The dystopian aspect is based on the 2010 film 'The Krazies'. Videos for characters canon and original, can be found on my Youtube channel via the link on my profile.

* * *

 **Red, White & Blue**

 _Nobody ever had a dream round here_ _  
_ _But I don't really mind that it's starting to get to me_ _  
_ _Nobody ever pulls the seams round here_ _  
_ _But I don't really mind that it's starting to get to me…_

"I could do a donut as of right now."

"Is that a hint, Abraham Ford?"

"It's a provocative proposition, Officer Friendly," Abraham leered, before leaning out of the cruiser window, wolf-whistling at Hershel Greene as he limped down the side-walk at speed towards them. "Nice shorts, sugar-lump," Abraham hollered, gesturing to the khaki cut-offs Hershel was sporting, proudly displaying his prosthetic.

"You're not getting your paws on these drawers," Hershel said, slowing to a stop, "not unless you work for it, Ford."

"Nah," Abraham drawled, "I don't think I could afford you,"

"They are nice shorts though," Rick said, eyes crinkling up at the corners, "you steal them off a washin' line, Hershel?"

Hershel raised his eyebrows, studying Rick for a brief moment, relieved to see the sheriff had regained some of his old spirit. After Rick's disastrous involvement with Imogen Alford, the English waitress at the local diner 'Teddy's', Hershel had watched Rick drift into a deep depression, spending hours trying to talk him out of his slump, whilst admonishing Imogen during their weekly dinners about the damage her 'loose ways' had done. "Maggie bought me them," Hershel said self-deprecatingly, plucking at his trouser leg, "I think she's trying to turn me into a trendy man about town."

"You certainly look like a man on a mission," Abraham said dryly, "where's the fire?"

"Foaling up at one of the outlying farms," Hershel said, making to set off again, "mare's in difficulty – ah, and there's Otis," he said, his head snapping up at Otis's shout from further up the sidewalk, "that's my cue to go, boys. Still on for Spaghetti Tuesdays?" he fired at them as he limped in the direction of his light blue pick-up.

"Wild horses couldn't keep us away," Abraham bellowed back.

"That man is the epitome of patriarch," Rick observed, drumming his fingers off the cruiser dashboard.

"Rules this one-horse town."

"Would you stop the horse references, man?"

"Only if you take your ass over to 'Teddy's' and pick up our goddamn gear," Abraham said, turning to face Rick, "and don't look at me like that, buddy. Stop bein' a pussy over that piece of English ass and man up."

Rick's jaw tightened, Abraham's militaristic manner getting on his last nerve as always. Despite swapping the army for the police force, Abraham had never really left White Point, and it showed in his speech and stare, his step that of a soldier.

Abraham studied Rick's rigid profile, sudden sympathy making him stand down. "Look, Rick," he said, exhaling sharply, "you're gonna have to face her some time. Just think of it as her loss."

"What, like you're Sasha's loss?" Rick snapped, making the blood drain from Abraham's face.

"That is neither here or there," Abraham snapped back, smoothing down his ginger moustache with agitated fingers.

"You know it ain't goin' anywhere with Rosita," Rick pointed out acerbically, "only round in circles. So end it and tell Sasha how you feel. You might be... pleasantly surprised."

Abraham looked out of the cruiser window, his fists clenching by his sides, the thought of Sasha striking him straight in the solar plexus. He was in a relationship with Rosita Espinoza, who ran the local gas station and coached the town's Little League team in her spare time, but his eye always wandered, dwelling on Imogen amongst others, caught by her accent and Marilyn Monroe hips as Rick had been. But no woman had his heart like Sasha, and he often made excuses to ride by the fire station and talk to her during their down-time. If she gave the signal, he would be like a lion tamed, faithful to the last.

Rick glanced down at the radio, his stomach rumbling, preferring to cast himself into a pit of poisonous snakes before walking into Imogen's work. After his marriage had ended, Rick had resigned himself to a lonely bachelorhood, never having had much of a way with women in the first place. But then Imogen had entered his life, exotic and unexpected, making the first and final move, and here he was, back to square one.

The break-up of his marriage had rocked the county, the scandal spreading like wildfire that the deputy's wife had been having an affair with the sheriff, ripping Rick's world apart. Shane had been like his brother and the betrayal had almost driven Rick over the edge, no longer knowing who to trust. His relationship had been on the rocks for months, Lori constantly condemning him, the two of them trying for another baby in a last ditch attempt to save their marriage. When Judith had been born, he'd been instantly besotted with his baby daughter, until Lori had dropped the bombshell he might not be the father, confessing she'd been having an affair with Shane for months prior to Judith's conception.

A paternity test had revealed Shane to be Judith's father, but Rick had been prepared to forgive Lori, still loving her, wanting to raise Judith as his own. But Lori had been done with living a lie, and she'd left Rick, moving with Shane to Atlanta, winning custody of Carl, Rick only having access at the weekends. Now Lori and Shane were engaged, playing happy families with Rick's children, something that made Rick want to rip Shane apart. He no longer loved Lori, but he missed Carl desperately, Judith even more so, the loss of the baby he loved still raw.

"C'mon now, get your ass into gear," Abraham said, elbowing him in the side, ruining Rick's reverie, "I'm done bein' your errand boy. It's time to face the music."


	2. The World We Had

**The World We Had**

"Gonna pass me that goddamn peach cobbler, please," Beth asked Imogen, small face stressed, her blonde ponytail slipping sideways, the heat making the loose tendrils framing her face curl into a wild halo.

Wordlessly, Imogen passed the offending dish over the counter, all too aware of the burden in her belly, hidden in plain sight, the strange sensation of not being alone anymore resurrecting a past she didn't care to remember. She wasn't showing yet, but she was conscious of a thickening of her hips and abdomen, her clothes feeling that little bit tighter. Yet she tried to convince herself she could conceal her secret a little longer, her curves that had caught Rick so carrying off the extra weight she was gaining.

Smoothing down her frivolous frilly apron, she then passed Beth two cans of Diet Coke and a glass of iced water, the clamour of the diner drilling into her skull. She'd thought she'd found freedom in the still quiet of King's County, fleeing Atlanta and its sprawling metropolitan mass, Doc and Michonne thinking she had lost her mind to up sticks to the middle of nowhere, with nothing but the clothes on her back and enough money to live on for a month.

After the breakdown of her marriage, she'd sought sanctuary in Doc and Michonne's brownstone apartment, but whilst two were company, three was a crowd, Michonne caught up in a vicious custody battle with her ex over access to their toddler son Andre. The dirty words of drug addiction and adultery were being dragged through the courts, the stress making Michonne turn to cigarettes to steady her shaking hands, whilst a newly promoted Doc was struggling to deal with the increased academic demands of his new post at GSU. Imogen, unable to stand the tense atmosphere anymore, knowing she was inadvertently adding further to their troubles with her own, had packed her bags and left, despite their pleas for her to stay.

Pulling out her notepad, she went over to the booth Merle and Daryl were crammed into, schooling her face into bland lines as she remembered her first encounter with the Dixon brothers.

One of T-Dog's waitresses had left him in the lurch, eloping with her ex-girlfriend to escape the small town scrutiny that cursed King's County, so T-Dog had agreed to interview Imogen as soon as she'd walked through the diner doors, Imogen providing the right answers to his abrupt questions, T-Dog hiring her on the spot, seeing they were cut from the same cloth, brooking no bullshit. Her first customers had been Merle and Daryl, T-Dog throwing her into the deep end, testing her out, making sure that she wasn't all front and no back, the brothers well versed in intimidating all and sundry.

After observing Imogen enduring Merle's innuendo with apparent equanimity, as well as Daryl's dourness, T-Dog had swiftly made her position permanent. Imogen wasn't going anywhere in the middle of nowhere, and she'd initially appreciated the stifling monotony, exiling herself to an anonymous existence. With a regular pay packet and a rickety roof over her head, Imogen had once been content to become enveloped by oblivion, the days drifting past like the faded cornfields flashing by the window of Rick's cruiser when he drove her home from the diner.

"What can I get you two today?" Imogen asked, aiming the same old question at Daryl Dixon, disliking the younger brother as much as the elder. But she could deal with Daryl, who just tended to fix her with a narrow-eyed glare that was obviously meant to intimidate, silence usually serving as his answer, silence Merle usually felt obligated to fill.

"All I want is standin' right in front of me, sweetheart," Merle leered, his grey gaze raking Imogen, enamoured as always with her waitress uniform, liking the too low neckline and too high hem. With his brother bringing in an irregular income fixing motorcycles, Merle didn't see the need to eat road-kill and whatever Daryl scavenged from the woods, and so he patronized T-Dog's diner as if it were a top drawer eatery, draining Daryl dry while he did.

"She don't look much like a waffle to me," Daryl muttered, leaning back in his seat, shaking the shaggy hair out of his eyes.

"Waffles?" Imogen said, seizing Daryl's dig as an answer. "The usual maple syrup and whipped cream?"

Daryl just looked at her, Merle scratching his armpit, his gaze travelling over to Beth as she bustled past, laden with a tray of empty plates.

"Come to Daddy, baby girl," he heckled, making kissing noises, Beth suddenly developing deafness, her cheeks flaming red with repressed rage.

"That's enough of that," Imogen snapped, fighting the sudden flare of violence sparking within her, "she's just a bloody kid." With high school over, eighteen year old Beth was working in the diner until college started in the fall, her father using his friendship with T-Dog to secure her a summer job.

"What you gonna do, sugar-tits, set your sheriff on me?" Merle jeered. "No, wait," he said, feigning thoughtfulness, "I forgot, Ricardo kicked you to the kerb, didn't he?"

Imogen just stood there, feeling the blood beginning to boil in her veins, suffocating the urge to snatch up a tray and smack it over his head. What had started between her and Rick as two-edged repartee as she served him his usual coffee and donut like clockwork, had become a brief fling, Imogen making her move after he'd driven her home one evening in his cruiser, Rick startled by her sudden kiss before surrendering, starting several weeks of staying the night in her tiny apartment. Imogen had ended it after Rick had suggested she meet his teenage son, Imogen not wanting to get involved, seeing the danger signs up ahead of settling down, everything she was running from.

"Cat got your tongue, London?" Merle taunted. "Or did someone cut it out? Hey, didn't they do that back in the day in Merrie Olde England? Should bring it back, man. Shut sluts like you up for starters."

"That's 'nuff," Daryl growled, straightening up.

Merle's jaw tightened, but for once, he shut up, throwing himself back against the booth wall with bad grace.

Biting her lip, Imogen headed over to the counter again, scribbling down their order as she went, her head bent over her notepad, only to collide with a blur of light brown and black. "Whoa, I'm sorry!" Imogen hastily apologised, only for her gaze to equally crash into Rick's, making her take a step back. He hadn't shown his face in the diner since she'd stopped returning his calls, his deputy collecting the coffee and donuts instead.

"Hey," Rick said awkwardly, letting go of her, his stubbled face pale beneath the sweeping brim of his cowboy hat.

Imogen stared at him, not missing the grey flecking his beard, silvering his dark hair at the sides. He was almost twice her age, but something about his weatherbeaten face and bright blue eyes had caught her from the moment he'd first stepped into the diner, his quiet air of authority instantly making her feel safe, something she hadn't felt for a long time. "Hey," she said, her throat suddenly dry, her hand almost flying to her stomach, only to hastily drop it to her side.

"Yeah, just the usual, Beth," Rick reiterated, watching Imogen disappear through the swing doors and into the kitchen beyond. "I seen your dad there, headin' out to a foalin' – never seen a man move so fast. Was gonna issue him a speedin' ticket."

"Alright, just let me get this order," she said, gratefully getting away from him, Rick sitting down on a stool, resting his elbows on the scarred surface of the counter.

"Two coffees and donuts to go?" Beth asked him, appearing out of thin air, stepping into the fray, having seen the expression on Imogen's face, reminding Beth of a wild creature that suddenly found itself cornered.

"Yeah, just the usual, Beth," Rick said, watching Imogen disappear through the swing doors and into the kitchen beyond. "I seen your dad there, headin' out to a foalin' – never seen a man move so fast. Was gonna issue him a speedin' ticket."

"Well, he ain't gonna let losin' a leg stop him," Beth said smartly, pouring the coffee into two polystyrene cups. Her father had lost his leg in a threshing machine accident the year before, and with gritted teeth, he'd taught himself to manoeuvre around on his prosthetic without the need of crutches.

"Amen to that," Rick fervently agreed, Beth bagging the donuts, adding two extra on the house to make weight.

"She ain't gonna come out until you're gone," Beth said quietly, noting Rick's gaze drifting to the swing doors again.

"I just want to know why she ended it like she did," Rick said just as quietly, fixing Beth with his blue gaze, knowing she might know.

"It ain't my place to say," Beth said uneasily, "but I don't think she wanted to go... steady. Ain't my style, but strokes for different folks. My daddy was right disapprovin' about it, said she was bein' loose."

"I bet Imogen appreciated that."

"She was gonna scratch his eyes out," Beth said, exhaling sharply, "said he was makin' out she was the Whore of Babylon, cavortin' with half the cowboys in King's County."

"I suppose it doesn't matter anyways," Rick said tiredly, taking the coffee and paper bag. "It's over and done with. I just wanted to know why, that's all."

Beth just smiled sadly at him, before turning her attention to the next customer, Rick taking his leave, not looking back.

 _Can we go back to the world we had?_  
 _With a love so sweet it makes me sad_  
 _Can we go back to the world we had?_  
 _It's the world we've been dreaming of..._


	3. Find My Own Way

**Find My Own Way**

"Would you pass me the gravy please?"

Sullenly, Imogen passed Glenn the requested gravy, Maggie raising her eyebrows at Beth over Imogen's moody manner, Beth rolling her eyes in return. Hershel observed Imogen over steepled fingers, his wife Annette daintily cleaning her mouth with a lace napkin embroidered with her initials, his step-son Shawn texting his latest girlfriend under the table, earning himself an admonitory glance from Hershel. He knew his two eldest offspring were so called modern Christians, living in sin, but he didn't want them to flaunt it in his face.

"Can I be excused?" Imogen said suddenly, getting up from the table, not waiting for an answer.

As she left the dining room, Hershel watched her go before getting up and following her, signalling Maggie to stay. Whilst the turkey had been cooking, there had been an odd incident with Imogen, instantly making Hershel suspicious. With the smell of roasting meat heavy in the air, Imogen had suddenly turned green before fleeing for the bathroom, violently throwing up her lunch from earlier on, and as a father and veterinarian, Hershel more than recognized the stages of early pregnancy.

Since Imogen had moved to King's County, he had taken her under his wing, treating her like his third daughter, something about her reminding Hershel of himself, both of them being bull-headed and difficult to deal with. As Imogen turned around to face him, looking slightly startled by his sudden appearance, Hershel was further struck by the resemblance between them, her blazing blue eyes reflecting his own, jaw tightening to the point of pugnacious just like his.

"Are you in the family way, Imogen?" Hershel asked quietly, making Imogen freeze, her hand flying defensively to her abdomen. With his worst fears confirmed, Hershel turned away, suddenly feeling very old. He'd sensed Imogen was a lost soul, and so he'd made it his duty to guide her like a father, trying and failing to protect her from herself.

"Don't condemn me, Hershel," Imogen said, her voice cracking, hating having Hershel stand in judgement on her. Having never known what belonging to a family felt like, she'd grown to love the Greene family as her own, and ever since she'd become involved with Rick, Hershel had come down like a ton of bricks on her, even harder than he did with Maggie and Shawn. It had started to seem like that was his only source of conversation, browbeating Imogen over her sinful ways, and she was sick of it, sick of it all.

"I only condemn because I care," Hershel said, reaching for her, only for Imogen to turn her back on him, wrapping her arms around her head. "What are you going to do, Imogen?" he asked, gripping the mantelpiece for support.

"I don't know," Imogen snapped, turning around, lowering her arms to her side, "I don't know what to do. I've just been pretending it's not happening."

"Are you keeping it?"

Imogen stared at Hershel, holding his gaze, daring him to suggest an abortion, even if she was too far along for it. "Yeah, I am," she said, "of anything, I'm sure of that."

"Then Rick needs to know," Hershel said firmly, "he has to take responsibility for his child."

Imogen turned away from him, glancing around the parlour instead, its subtle charm getting on her last nerve. Once the quiet stillness would have soothed, but it only exacerbated the storm brewing beneath, making her fists clench by her sides. Her gaze met Hershel's mother's painted one, her portrait hung pride of place in the parlour, the Mona Lisa smile playing across her lips almost mocking, making Imogen round on Hershel, blue eyes blazing against the background of her pale face.

"You sure it's his child?" Imogen taunted. "I'm sure there's half a dozen men who could claim kin in your opinion."

Hershel exhaled sharply, knowing she had him there. "I apologize," he said tiredly, "I may have... gone over the score with what I said" -

\- "I think you're somewhere near Saturn with your out of this world observations," Imogen said sarcastically.

"What, do you want me to lend you a telescope to make sure?" Hershel said even more sarcastically.

 _Oh, no, you tell me how I need to be_ _  
_ _That ain't up to anybody else but me_ _  
_ _I don't care what you think…_


	4. Broken Arrow

**Broken Arrow**

 _But I'm just a soul whose intentions are good_  
 _Oh Lord, please don't let me be misunderstood..._

Imogen paced the porch, desperate for a nicotine hit, but ruthlessly repressing the urge. As soon as she'd discovered she was pregnant, she'd instantly set aside her cigarettes, now all too aware she was responsible for another's existence. She went out of town to Harrison for her prenatal check-ups, not wanting anyone in King's County to stumble across her secret, having not even confided in Doc and Michonne, the knowledge sitting guiltily on her conscience.

"What's up with you?" Beth asked from the swing-seat, her brow furrowing. "You've been actin' like a cat on a hot tin roof all evenin'. Is it somethin' daddy said?"

Imogen stared out at the shadowed fields, her fists clenching by her sides, suddenly feeling the full weight of her burden. For a mad moment she wanted to confess to Beth, the younger girl easier to confide in than the straight-talking Maggie, but she held her tongue. "No," she said abruptly, "I'm just feeling on edge tonight, that's all."

"You're makin' me feel on edge just lookin' at you," Beth said, curling her legs up beneath her, "I don't know, maybe you should take up meditation or somethin'."

"What I need is a fag," Imogen said darkly, "but that's out of the equation, so..." Her voice trailed off, Imogen turning to the far fields again, the sight not soothing her like it usually did, the still silence getting on her last nerve again.

"Well, I think it's good you've decided to kick the habit," Beth said loftily, "I admire your ambition to not fall by the wayside."

"Sure sugar," Imogen said, parodying Beth's antebellum accent, before rolling her eyes for good measure.

Beth just looked at her, only deigning to raise her eyebrows at Imogen's almost insult before launching her own attack. "It was nice to see Rick lookin' well today, wasn't it?" she said sweetly, her blue eyes deceptively innocent, her gaze meeting Imogen's suddenly angry one head-on.

"He was hardly in his grave to begin with, was he?"

"He's a good man," Beth said firmly, "and a good provider. I think you could have got him."

"Exactly what century are we in, Beth Greene?" Imogen snapped. "I have no intention of hooking Rick Grimes or anyone. I've had a taste of matrimony and let me tell you, it's not what it's cracked up to be."

Beth just smiled to herself, looking almost smug, as if she knew something Imogen didn't.

"You're only eighteen years old," Imogen said coldly, "what do you know of life? Nothing, that's what. So stick to your singing and whatnot" -

\- "You're not much older than me," Beth retorted, instantly losing her cool, "and anyways, you don't know what I know, so shut up."

Imogen just looked at Beth, taking in the sight of her blonde ponytail and slight frame, looking twelve instead of eighteen. Beth hadn't begun to live yet, her life limited to school and church, her experience of men just as narrow, her existence deliberately cloistered by Hershel, who was grimly determined his baby wouldn't become corrupt like his two elder offspring.

"Whoa, what was that?" Beth said suddenly, her head snapping up, her words almost drowned out by the immediate racket of one of the farm dogs barking from behind the barn, the sound making Imogen frown.

"What did you see?" Imogen asked urgently, her hand unconsciously going to the hidden swell of her stomach.

"I thought I seen someone slip behind the barn," Beth said, getting to her feet, "carryin' somethin'."

"Wait here," Imogen said, making for the back door, "I'll go and get Maggie." But even as she spoke, a clash of voices could be heard drawing closer and closer, Imogen instantly heading inside to head Hershel off. The last time he caught someone trespassing on his land, he'd almost blown the head off their shoulders with his shotgun, only to find it was just a hiker who'd gotten lost, Rick sweet-talking the stranger out of pressing charges, Imogen understandably anxious to avoid another such incident.

As Imogen went inside the house, Beth swiftly ran down the porch steps, not stopping to think of her own safety, acting on impulse. Rounding the side of the barn, she stopped short at the sight of Daryl Dixon trying to evade Shep's enthusiastic embrace, the farm dog trying to lick his face, leaping up and down in a frenzy of happiness as he did with every person he unfortunately encountered.

"Gonna call your goddamn mutt off me!" Daryl snapped, holding his brace of squirrels out of the dog's reach, his stomach clenching painfully with hunger. Merle had blown the last of their money on meth, before promptly passing out cold front of the broken down television, driving Daryl out into the darkness.

"Shep, heel," Beth snapped, only to round on Daryl, her blue eyes blazing. "You're trespassin', Daryl Dixon," she pointed out, "so you can't blame the damned dog for doin' his job, can you?"

"I was takin' a shortcut," Daryl said tersely, strangely registering in the back of his mind this was the first time he'd ever swapped more than a mumbled grunt with Beth Greene, that he was now somehow speaking full sentences.

"A short-cut through our land" -

\- "When did takin' a short-cut become trespassin'?"

"As of now," Beth said coldly.

"Your daddy don't own the woods, kid."

Beth folded her arms across her chest. "What you doin' out here at this time of night anyways?" she asked, eying his brace of squirrels curiously, her gaze dwelling on the dangerous looking crossbow slung across his shoulder.

"Just takin' the night air," Daryl said sarcastically before stalking off, fading into the gloom.


	5. Oh These Simple Things

**Oh These Simple Things**

 _The light on the knees_  
 _Reminds me of my dreams_  
 _Oh, these simple things_  
 _Better than anything..._

Absolutely ravenous, Rick shovelled a pile of mashed potato into his mouth, before cramming in a chunk of fresh breaded chicken, oblivious to Carol's raised eyebrows at his bad table manners. It was only until Sophia sniggered that he froze, fork halfway to his lips, the next helping of mashed potato dropping piece by fluffy piece back onto his plate. "It's good grub," he said defensively, tucking into some steamed carrots instead, Sophia silently passing him the salt, Carol cutting her amusement short with a warning glance.

"I class that as a compliment to my cooking," Carol then said, daintily carving up her own chicken, "and it's good to see a man with a healthy appetite."

"Amen to that," Rick agreed, hastily knocking back a glass of water, Carol getting up to refill the jug.

Carol's weekly dinners were an old tradition that had first started when his wife was still around, Carol becoming a close friend after Carl and Sophia had buddied up during the middle school years. Even after Lori had left Rick, taking Carl with her, Carol had continued to invite him over. Since he'd moved from the suburbs, Carol was now his nearest neighbour, and Rick preferred the warm welcoming rooms of the Peletier residence to the emptiness of his own abode, often making excuses to stop over, escaping the silence that stalked the halls of his home.

During his divorce, he and Lori had fought tooth and nail over the family home, a modest dwelling that Rick had invested his heart in. Lori had initially been obsessed with leasing the house out, clashing with Rick who just wanted rid of it. He had refused to bind himself to Lori any further than being the father of her son, and so the house had been sold, the proceeds being split between them, Lori forced to set aside her ambitions of becoming a landlord.

Rick had used his part of the profits to purchase a ramshackle old farmhouse going cheap on the edge of town, spending that summer renovating it, finding it therapeutic to work with his bare hands, Carl helping him at the weekends. The Greene family had pitched in, Abraham as well, Carol cooking for Rick after a wall had collapsed in his kitchen. It had been Carol who had suggested that he ask Daryl Dixon to take a look at the stuff beyond his skill, Rick taking up her advice with some trepidation due to the Dixon brothers' unsavoury reputation.

He had been aware there was a strange kind of friendly feeling between Carol and Daryl, that she left casseroles on the Dixon doorstep on a weekly basis, Daryl doing oddjobs around her house in return, but Rick hadn't been sure he wanted the redneck under his roof. But he couldn't afford the necessary tradespeople, and so in the end he'd approached Daryl, who'd agreed to undertake the work if Rick paid him in cold beers and Chinese take-out.

Exhausted by a lifestyle of living hand to mouth, Daryl would have preferred cold hard cash, but he knew Rick barely had any income apart from his monthly paycheck which wasn't much to begin with, and so Rick had guiltily granted Daryl's request, having been living hand to mouth himself, the divorce almost draining him dry, Lori having tried to take him for all he'd had, Rick paying over the score alimony for Carl.

The men had worked side by side in silence, slowly but surely bonding over beer and baseball, both of them collapsing in front of Rick's flatscreen television at the end of each long day, the cicadas singing in the soft twilight. Once the farmhouse had been finished, Daryl had drifted away, only acknowledging Rick outside if they were alone. Despite their best efforts, the farmhouse was still an eyesore, but it was Rick's, a place to build better memories in, or so he told himself, battling to keep the bitter loneliness at bay.

"I got a text from Lori today," Carol said as she came over, setting the jug down on the table, startling Rick out of his reverie, "she wanted to know if it was okay for Shane to drive down to take Sophia up to Atlanta."

Rick's jaw tightened, but he kept his calm. "Well, it's Lori's turn this year to have Carl's birthday party at her place," he said, stabbing his fork into the steamed carrots with too much force.

"I'm going to Skype Sophia over the weekend when she's away," Carol said, sitting down, glancing at Sophia who was not so secretly texting under the table, "you should drop by and talk to Carl since your Wi-Fi signal is a joke."

"That'd be good," Rick agreed, secretly cursing Shane to kingdom come, making a personal note to steer clear of the Peletier residence on the day Shane was due to drive up. Shane was a point of contention between Carol and Rick, one they usually avoided mentioning unless absolutely necessary.

Way back, when Rick had been the deputy and Shane the sheriff, Shane had almost whaled Ed into the afterlife after a hysterical Sophia flagged down their cruiser for help. She'd just come home from school, only to find Carol unconscious on the hallway, her arm bent at an unnatural angle. When Shane and Rick had rushed into the house, it was only to find Ed coolly smoking a cigerette in the kitchen, apparently unperturbed at their abrupt entrance. He had made one smart remark too many to Shane, who had just snapped, beating Ed to a bloody pulp, Rick unable to restrain him, Shane's rage frightening to behold.

Shane had merely received a disciplinary, Ed too scared of Shane to press charges. Afterwards, Ed had filed for divorce and left town, leaving Carol and Sophia to lead their own lives, Ed refusing to live in Shane's shadow, and ever since then, Carol had held Shane in high esteem, forcing Rick to grit his teeth and endure her admiration.

"You know, you can remove that stick from your ass," Carol said with a sweet smile to Rick, making him almost choke on his chicken. "Here, have some water," she said as she stood up, gracefully pouring it into his glass.

"Thanks," Rick retorted. "Consider said stick removed."


	6. The Weight Of An Empty Life

**Author's Note:** Originally the first few chapters of this story were simply there to establish character relationships etcetera, before exploring the dystopian aspect, but for the time being, the story will run along 'ordinary' lines for a while until then.

* * *

 **The Weight Of An Empty Life**

 _Got bubble wrap around my heart_ _  
_ _Waiting for my life to start_ _  
_ _But everyday it never comes_ _  
_ _Permanently at square one…_

"T's late."

"When isn't he?"

"If I didn't need the dollars, I would tell him to stuff his job. I'm sick of freezin' my ass off for fuck all."

"Watch your language, Joan. There's kiddiewinks present."

Beth rolled her eyes at Amy's veiled insult, before turning her back on Imogen and the others, her blue gaze drifting in the direction of the thrift store across the road, where Daryl Dixon was standing on the far corner of the sidewalk, smoking a cigarette, shaking back his shaggy hair as he carelessly flicked his ash aside.

"Bit long in the tooth, isn't he?"

Beth started violently, only to see Amy smirking down at her, grey eyes knowing. "I don't know what you're talkin' about," she said coldly, recovering herself, suddenly hating Amy in that moment. Usually she could just about tolerate Amy, who would swing from being annoyingly immature to alarmingly experienced in the blink of an eye, armed with an irritating giggle that always got on Beth's last nerve. Amy's older sister ran a successful law practice, and after a failed internship there, Amy had ended up at the diner, resenting the turn her life had taken, never failing to make sure everybody knew she had been destined for better things.

"Leave her alone," Imogen said quietly, sitting down on the windowsill, her legs feeling shaky beneath her.

Amy's jaw tightened, but she backed off, turning to talk to Joan instead. As she did, Beth glanced at Imogen, studying the dark circles etched under her eyes, remembering how she'd been ill last night, as well as on edge all evening. "You okay?" she asked quietly, brow furrowing in concern.

Imogen nodded, not trusting herself to speak, something in her face stopping Beth from challenging the lie. Instead, Beth backed off, much to Imogen's terrible relief. Last night, after Shawn had driven her home, the landlord of her apartment had turned up out of the blue, announcing the rent was being raised an extra hundred dollars, and he would be expecting it at the end of the month as usual, Imogen too exhausted to argue with him.

She was working herself to the bone, with only seventy dollars stashed away in her savings, up to her eyeballs in debt in order to keep the roof over her head and her medical bills paid. All the necessities of living were becoming burdens she could barely bear. She didn't want to think about everything the baby would need once it was born, only flagellating herself for being a fool, falling into the same trap twice.

"What's with the long face, sweetheart?"

Imogen glanced up, only to see Officer Gorman standing in front of her, his bulk all but blocking out the sun. Across the road, Daryl did his disappearing act as Rick drew up in his battered cruiser, Abraham lounging beside him, Tara in the backseat, their latest rookie recruit. Gorman glanced over his shoulder, his mouth maliciously quirking up at the corner upon seeing what Imogen was staring at, before turning to face her again.

"See you're still carrying a torch for our good old sheriff, then," Gorman said lightly, enjoying making Imogen pale, figuring Rick's fancy piece needed taking down a peg or two. Behind Rick's back, Imogen was classed as the reigning joke down at the station, that a diner waitress would dare to aspire to a sheriff, even if it was all over now.

Without a word, Imogen got up, ignoring Beth's attempts to stop her, before escaping down into the alleyway that ran alongside the diner, the silence almost suffocating. Resting her forehead against the cool brickwork of the wall, she closed her eyes, desperately praying for the strength to go on, to stand alone. She had no intention of telling Rick she was carrying his child, making vague plans to skip town as soon as she started showing, but something made her falter; maybe the memory of his rough hands upon her, his touch tender, reassuring, steadying her when nothing else could.

"Imogen?"

She whirled around, startled, only to see Rick, his cowboy hat tucked under his arm, face concerned. At the entrance to the alleyway was Abraham, who made an impatient gesture, before turning and leaving, making Rick roll his eyes.

"You okay?" he asked quietly, making to reach for her, only to think better of it, hand dropping helplessly to his side.

"Top of the world," Imogen snapped, straightening her spine, pride restoring her.

"You don't look it."

"Appearances can be deceptive."

Silence.

"I didn't know you did the graveyard shift," Rick said, swiftly changing the subject, "so why you up at the crack of dawn, huh? Never had you down as a mornin' person."

Imogen stared at him, remembering breakfasts in bed, Rick's impressions of Abraham and the others making her snort into her bacon. "I need the extra hours," she said abruptly, only to realise she'd said too much, Rick instantly frowning.

"You need money?" he said, looming over her, his eyes almost azure against the backdrop of his tanned face.

"Who doesn't?" Imogen said smartly, standing her ground.

"Maybe some more than others."

Imogen bit her lip, remembering Philip Blake standing in her hall - _his_ hall - his grey gaze travelling dismissively over her as he demanded his money at the end of the month. "The rent on my apartment's gone up," she said tiredly, "I need to make up the difference." _If_ she could, Imogen thought bitterly, remembering T-Dog's timely text late last night saying he needed her to take on the morning shift, seeming like a godsend, when in reality it was just a brief boon. She made a mental note to speak with T-Dog about being assigned extra hours, well aware she would probably have to fight tooth and nail for them, knowing that she was just lucky to catch this shift.

"Times are gettin' tougher," Rick acknowledged, before turning to leave, "but I better get back. Coffee kick's callin'. Sets the team up for the rest of the day."

Imogen nodded, not really caring, waiting for Rick to walk ahead. But he hesitated, some undefined emotion flickering behind his blue eyes, making him falter. "What is it?" she snapped, instantly on the defensive, sensing a storm.

"Can... can we talk?" Rick said in a rush, passing his cowboy hat between his hands. "Just to clear the air, that's all. There's only so many times I can cross the street to avoid you."

Imogen exhaled sharply, feeling the fight leave her, making her shoulders slump. "You don't need to cross the road to avoid me, Rick," she said tiredly, "even though I... understand why. Heck, I didn't even know I'd driven you to such desperate measures." A broken smile played across her lips, not quite meeting her eyes, but it was enough for Rick, who had been met with a wall of silence from Imogen for too long.

"No wonder," Rick said lightly, putting his cowboy hat on, "you seemed... distracted. Still do, if you don't mind me sayin'." There was an edge to his inquiry, setting Imogen on edge in turn, but she strove to keep her face carefully blank.

"I'll text you when I'm free," she said nonchalantly, "our breaks are all up in the air at the moment."

"No problem," Rick said, shrugging his shoulders, "unless I'm on an urgent call, I can take my break whenever I want – one of the perks of pullin' rank."

Again, Imogen just nodded, wishing he would just leave, her treacherous heart wishing he wouldn't.

"You... you didn't delete my number, then?" Rick said suddenly, startling her, his face oddly boyish between the brim of his hat.

"No, I didn't," Imogen said caustically, but she dropped her gaze to the ground, unable to meet his eyes, frightened he might find what she was trying to keep hidden in plain sight.


	7. Let It Be

**Let It Be**

"Hey up, Imogen," T-Dog said, striding through the swing doors, his face harassed, "those waffles are good to go."

"Where are _you_ going?" Imogen asked, exhausted. She had been working for five hours straight, and with the lunch hour rush looming, and Aaron calling in sick, she wouldn't get a break until the late afternoon at least.

"My break," T-Dog said abruptly, giving voice to the one thing she wanted the most. "Dale's got the cooking covered until I come back." And with that, he was gone, the doors crashing shut behind him, Imogen watching him go with resentful eyes. T-Dog as an employer was usually fair and above board, and he often went the extra mile for his staff, but to Imogen today, he was only concerned about himself.

"Shouldn't you be headin' home?" Joan asked Imogen as she went past, looking confused. "Ain't your shift over?"

"My shift is just starting, sweetheart," Imogen said bitterly, "I'm pulling back to back."

"Fuckin' hell," Joan sympathized before sweeping off, her tray of cold drinks held aloft.

"Gettin' ready to head home, Joanie?" Amy asked as curly-haired Karen came through the doors, ready to start her own shift, signaling the end of Amy's.

"Too damn right I am," Joan agreed, setting the tray down, nearly spilling the drinks in her haste.

"Rub it in, why don't you," Imogen muttered as she bypassed Beth, who was getting ready to go home herself, taking the rest of the afternoon off, having originally swapped shifts with Aaron to break up the long day.

"Hey," Beth said suddenly, grabbing Imogen's arm, "take some time out. I'll cover you."

Imogen stared at her, startled. "I can't," she said stupidly, "I'm not due a break until God knows when, and you're off-duty."

"You're goddamn dead on your feet, Imo," Beth snapped, shrugging off her bomber jacket, "so I'll cover you, okay?"

"I'm pulling back to back" -

\- "And I'm pullin' rank," Beth hissed. "You'll get your money, don't worry. Now go and take your break!"

Again, Imogen just stared at Beth, so small and fragile, yet alarmingly autocratic. "I've to see Rick," she blurted out, startling Beth this time, "he wants to talk."

"Well, go and sort your face," Beth ordered imperiously, "and do somethin' to your hair. You look like a scarecrow."

Imogen flicked her the middle finger before rushing to the restroom, untying her apron-strings as she moved. Beth watched her go, before hanging up her bomber jacket, Amy sidling over in an insinuating manner, making Beth's hackles rise. "T's not gonna be happy about you stepping out of your place," Amy said, leaning against the counter, "calling the shots like you're the king."

"T's a teddy bear," Beth said with a forced smile, "and you're off-duty. So get." Amy just raised an eyebrow before sauntering off, Joan waving Beth goodbye, high-fiving Ana as she came in. "Lose the Rambo look," Beth said, gesturing to the silk scarf wound around Ana's forehead, "it's over."

"I'm bringing it back," Ana said equably, untying it as she spoke, "but count it done."

"You boss lady now?" Karen joked as she came over, carelessly pushing the curls out of her eyes.

"Well, Dale's doin' his cookin' mojo," Beth said tiredly, "and T's on his break - also what with Aaron callin' in sick, and Imogen coverin' for Aaron who was meant to be coverin' me... so yeah, I guess I'm in charge."

"I better watch my step, then," Karen said with a smile, before going over to take a customer's order, notepad at the ready.

"T's really having a staffing crisis, isn't he?" Ana said sympathetically as she took off her fur gilet, before folding it over her arm.

"Zach bailed - again," Beth said, rolling her eyes, "bet he turns up tomorrow, beggin' for his job back."

"Who was the lucky person that got his shift?" Ana asked. "I'm needing a few extra hours myself."

"Imogen got it," Beth said, "but it means she's pullin' back to back with no breaks."

"Any extra shifts coming up at all though?"

"There's Aaron's shift tomorrow morning," Beth said, brow furrowing, "we traded up, so I'm off today, but in tomorrow, to cover when Aaron is off, so it still balances out even though he's sick. But the other shifts... I think Imogen has her eye on his shifts for the rest of this week, but I'm not sure."

"Getting a bit greedy, isn't she?" Ana observed, raising an eyebrow. "She'll probably take over Zach's hours on top of her own, and now she's wanting Aaron's?"

"It's not set in stone she's gettin' those shifts," Beth flared up, "and you know how everybody fights over the extra hours, so I hardly think T will give them to Imogen on a golden platter."

"Well, she can't cover everyone all at once," Ana said, hastily backtracking, "not without killing herself."

"Well, I sent her on a break," Beth said importantly, tilting her chin, "so I'll hold the fort until she comes back. If I were you, I'd speak to T first thin' about those extra shifts before someone else snaps them up."

"Will do," Ana said chirpily, too chirpily, "just gonna clean up before I start."

Beth just nodded, watching Ana head into the restroom, Imogen coming out at the same time, Ana edging around her with a nervous smile. "Hey," Beth said as Imogen came over, noting how she'd let her dark hair down, letting it fall in limp waves around her wan face, "you good to go?"

"As much as I'll ever be," Imogen said tiredly, "I won't be long."

* * *

Nodding at Olivia as he entered the uncharacteristically empty coffee shop, Rick hung up his cowboy hat on a hatstand near the door, trusting Olivia to keep an eye on it, not wanting to wear it when he met Imogen, remembering all the times she'd mocked it. He then made his way over to a table near the back, positioned in a corner almost out of sight, the dim lighting creating an intimate environment he didn't exactly appreciate.

He'd received Imogen's text during a dunking donut competition with Abraham and Tara, King's County being particularly quiet when it came to crime, and he'd made his excuses and left, Abraham threatening to emerge as the victor as to how many donuts he could 'dunk' in a minute. The text had been brief, Imogen stating the meeting would be just as short, the almost aggressive edge to the message setting Rick further on the defensive, remembering the expression of reluctant surrender in Imogen's eyes during their odd encounter in the alleyway.

However, Rick's disquiet hadn't stopped him from fussing with his hair and generally agonizing over his appearance back at the station, thinking he must be having a mid-life crisis, losing his head over a girl nearly half his age. Exhaling sharply, Rick leaned back in his seat, his attention caught by the arrival of another customer, only to see it was Imogen, completely ignoring Olivia's enthusiastic welcome.

Gritting his teeth, Rick waved his arm at Imogen, catching her attention. She hesitated before coming forwards, Rick standing up as she approached, drawing out a chair for her. He remained on his feet until she was seated, feeling slightly foolish as he did, Imogen raising an eyebrow at his less than modern manners.

"Good ole Southern boy style," she said sarcastically, parodying his antebellum accent, "there's nothing to beat it."

"Well, my mother did beat the basic points of Southern chivalry into me," Rick said dryly. "My ass has never been the same since."

"She an advocate of a good spanking, then?"

"She was a goddamn ambassador of it."

"Nice," Imogen observed, "and here we have King's County's best barista," she then said with a false smile as Noah came over, notepad primed. "What you having?" she fired at Rick, crossing her legs as she spoke, her knee accidentally bumping Rick's under the small table.

"Just a black coffee, please," Rick said to Noah, trying to ignore Imogen's knee now leaning against his, the enforced intimacy making him tense up. Noah looked expectantly at Imogen, awaiting her order, but she just shook her head. "C'mon," Rick snapped, sounding sharper than he intended, "it's my treat. Get somethin' - a slice of cake or whatnot."

"I'm fine," Imogen said smartly. "Just the one black coffee, please," she said to Noah, who nodded, before making a discreet exit.

Rick's jaw tightened, but he held his tongue, remembering too late how stubborn Imogen could be. As he waited for his coffee, their knees still touching, he studied her, Imogen too busy texting under the table to see his scrutiny, Rick profiling what changes time had wrought during their time apart.

He immediately noted that she'd tried to rewrite her appearance before their meeting, letting her hair down and applying her usual lipgloss and black eyeliner combination; Rick recalling the elegant twist of her wrist whenever she applied her make-up, how he used to watch her from the bed, his gaze drinking in the sight of her standing there wearing only his T-shirt, showing acres of bare leg.

But all her measures couldn't conceal the sight of her greasy hair and the dark circles etched under her eyes; the high cheekbones flung into unrelenting relief against the backdrop of her haggard face. She'd lost that spark that set her apart, the sway of her walk slowed down by the extra weight she was almost unconsciously carrying, Rick remembering all too well the curve of her hips under his hands.

"What are you looking at?" Imogen asked irritably, finally raising her head from her phone, ruining Rick's reverie.

"I'm not lookin' at anythin'."

"Yes, you were."

"I _wasn't_."

"You so were," Imogen flared up, slamming her phone down on the table, "you had your bloody cop face on."

Rick just looked away, not wanting to start on a negative note, Imogen needlessly resurrecting old arguments. During their terse time together, he had often studied her so, sometimes when she was asleep in his arms, slumber smoothing out the harsh planes of her almost plain features, altering her into another Imogen altogether, one he didn't recognize. She had caught him at it when awake, leading to Imogen founding the accusation of his 'cop face', that he was constantly looking at her like a criminal. Rick had tried and failed not to fight with her, only refusing to let her read his heart, knowing she would just use the knowledge against him.

* * *

The order seemed to take forever to arrive, but to Rick's intense relief, Noah finally brought over his black coffee, carefully setting it down on the checked tablecloth with a smile. As he did, Imogen finally moved her knee away from his, Rick straightening up, feigning a nonchalance he didn't feel. Avoiding Imogen's eyes, he took a sip of coffee, the taste bitter on his tongue, remembering too late that Olivia went overboard when it came to coffee, brewing it too strong.

"Who was that you were textin'?" Rick then asked before he could stop himself, jerking his head at the phone on the table.

"Aren't you meant to be on your break?"

"The bad guys don't clock off, so why should I?"

Imogen looked at him for a long moment, suddenly looking like a little girl, gnawing her lower lip. "I wasn't texting anyone," she admitted, startling him, "I just can't handle awkward silences, alright?"

Rick blew out his cheeks, remembering too late the crazy conversations they used to have, realising at the same time he'd crossed a line. "I'm sorry," he said, wincing, "it's none of my business who you text or not. I shouldn't have said that."

"No, you shouldn't have," Imogen said, leaning back in her seat, "but I suppose it's neither here or there. Not unless you're jealous."

Rick took another sip of coffee, ignoring Imogen's remark and accompanying raised eyebrow. "You put on some weight?" he said, deliberately crossing the line again, gesturing at her with his cup.

"What, you calling me fat?" Imogen snapped, her spine stiffening, suddenly feeling open and exposed. She had been a fool to think Rick wouldn't notice; it was his job to notice, to see what others often overlooked.

Rick ran his gaze over her, before setting the cup down, spreading his hands wide instead, instinctively sensing he had suddenly gained an advantage over her. "You're obviously not at your best," he said coolly, "I'm just... concerned, that's all."

"Concerned my figure doesn't meet your exacting specifications?" Imogen said through gritted teeth, hiding her fear with fire, her fists clenching under the table.

"Oh, c'mon," Rick snapped, completely losing his cool, "you know you're beautiful, you don't need me to tell you that" -

\- "Look, I didn't come here to listen to your cack-handed compliments," Imogen said, making to get out of her seat, "so let's just quit while we're ahead" -

\- "Hey, I'm just worried, okay?" Rick said, grabbing her hands, startling her into sitting back down. "You suit a little weight, but it's not that – you just look really rundown, and I'm concerned, nothin' else, I swear." He let go of her hands, realising he was rambling, that he should have kept his own hands to himself.

Imogen looked at him for a long moment again. "You really think I suit a little extra weight?" she asked against her will, vanity overcoming all common sense. "I just think I'm fat."

Rick studied her, surprised. "You're not fat," he said, running his hand across his stubble, feeling his face starting to redden despite himself, "you're... fine. I think you're fine, not that I think that you're fine, _fine,_ but yeah, you're fine. You can carry it off..." His voice trailed into a void, Rick then looking down at the checked tablecloth, wishing himself a world away.

"I can carry it off?" Imogen said skeptically.

"Oh, yeah, definitely," Rick hastily agreed, nodding his head vehemently, the tips of his ears turning tomato red. Even though Imogen was attractive enough, Rick had always seen her through rose-tinted glasses, believing her to be beautiful and consequently completely out of his league. When it came to women, Rick's experience had been largely limited to Lori, having been humiliated once too many times.

As Rick surreptitiously studied Imogen again, the heat creeping up the back of his neck afresh, he couldn't help but compare her against what he'd had. Lori had been slender and dignified, prone to pointed silences, whilst Imogen was voluptuous and vocal, not ashamed to offend with her outspoken remarks. Lori had been classy whilst Imogen was undoubtedly common, but for all their differences, both women were dark-haired and blue-eyed, with ivory skin and exotic features, as well as long-limbed and long-haired.

Imogen appraised Rick, seeing that he was getting hot under the collar, the sight soothing her wounded ego. "Have you been checking me out, Sheriff?" she said in a low voice, deliberately leaning across the table, making Rick's gaze react on reflex, traveling downwards to the too low neckline of her diner uniform, Imogen tucking a strand of limp black hair behind her ear as he did. "Are you being a bad boy again?"

Rick swallowed hard, realising too late he'd lost his advantage. "Don't start up that shit, Imogen," he said, shifting awkwardly in his seat, tearing his eyes away too late, "not here, not... ever, okay? We're done with all that."

"Are we?" Imogen said, raising her eyebrow again.

Rick's gaze traveled over her face, Imogen biting her lower lip as her own gaze met and held his, the sight making him swallow hard again. "Yeah, we are," he said, not very convincingly, knowing he was being backed into a corner he couldn't get out of, not sure if he wanted to.

"We've played this game before, Rick," Imogen said, leaning her chin on her hand, having no intention of taking this further than the table, only set on inflating her ego further. "You know the rules."

"Yeah, and I'm goddamn done with your games," Rick snapped, recovering himself, "and your stupid rules as well, how I'm not allowed to hold your hand outside – we can't go and see a film" -

\- "Yeah, because I didn't want a bloody relationship" -

\- "Well, I did!" Rick said, thumping the table, making Imogen flinch. "Sorry," he said, pinching the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger, "I – I just – you just really hurt me, okay!?"

Imogen stared at him, startled at the depth of emotion in his eyes, the venom in his voice.

"Look, I really liked you," Rick said reluctantly, finally biting the bullet, leaning his forehead against his hand now, "but you just shut me out, man, and then you ended it, no explanation or nothin'."

Imogen half closed her eyes, no longer the temptress, knowing she had wronged Rick, that she at least owed him an answer.

"If my ex-wife could see me now, she would be very surprised," Rick said, raising his head from his hand, darkly amused against his will. "Normally it's me who's the one that's crap at communication – I just shut down, I don't talk about shit. Now the boot's on the other foot, and I can see why she got so fuckin' mad at me." He bowed his head, picking up the cup, before setting it down on the saucer this time. "None of that matters now," he said tiredly, raising his head, holding Imogen's gaze, "but I would have appreciated a straight answer at the time, instead of a brick wall of silence. You wouldn't take my calls, you flat out ignored or avoided me. You could have just said it was over, Imogen" -

\- "I figured you'd take the hint," Imogen snapped, "but yeah, I should have had the decency to have at least dumped you properly. So I'm sorry, alright?"

Rick looked at her for a long moment. "It was obviously to be expected," he said slowly, leaning back in his seat, "what with the age gap and all. We're at different stages of our lives and all that clichéd shit."

"Hey, I've done the heavy shit," Imogen snapped, "I had the ring, the house, the husband, the baby. Then I lost it all, I miscarried and it destroyed my marriage because everything was built upon that baby. It wasn't about us anymore, it was about her, and when she went" - At this, Imogen all but broke down, burying her face in her hands, before suddenly straightening up, face contorted, struggling to steady herself.

"Jesus, I'm sorry," Rick said, reaching for her, "just – just come here." Even as he asked her, he wasn't ready for the way she flung herself out of her seat and into his arms, ending up in his lap, Rick wrapping his arms around her, dimly aware of Olivia goggling at them just almost out of sight behind the counter, Noah nowhere to be seen.

"I'm sorry," Imogen whispered, clutching the front of his bomber jacket, leaning her forehead against his, "I – I just couldn't do it again."

"I thought I couldn't either," Rick said gently, his voice cracking despite himself, "but I found out I could – that I _can_."

Imogen exhaled sharply, sensing the second chance he was all but asking for, unable to grant what was his to have, his child a burden she suddenly couldn't bear. "I can't," she said, raising her head, meeting his gaze head-on, "and I won't."

Rick scrunched up his eyes, fighting the agony threatening to overwhelm him, finally realizing in that moment how much she had come to mean to him, what he had lost, a life together that would now never be lived. "Okay," he said, bowing his head, avoiding her almost accusing eyes, "I – I won't ask it of you again. I... I just..."

"Don't," Imogen said in a low voice, "don't say anymore. Just... just let it be."

 _And when the brokenhearted people_  
 _Living in the world agree,_  
 _There will be an answer, let it be..._  
 _And though they may be parted there is_  
 _Still a chance that they will see_  
 _There will be an answer, let it be..._


End file.
